Across my desk

"I heard there is an offender down at Fairbault that is also gluten intolerant. I thought if I was moved down there, I would have a support system", the man with intelligent eyes asked.
"I do not know what kind of special diets are at which facility", the woman replied shortly.
"I appreciate all the kitchen has done for me, but I am having a real problem with this." He sits straight in his chair, his posture excellent from the tartaric yoga he practices in his cell. She wishes she did not know this about him. She has spent too much of her time talking to this needy man. She wishes this guy did not exist in her mind or anywhere.
The woman just sighed and looked at the waste sitting across from her. He was in her office building up for his next tirade, his next appeal. The lifer had wore through every last nerve of her staff who catered to his diet, the dietitian who block him from directly contacting her anymore, and anyone else who would listen.
"Those Rice Checks you ordered for me, they give me panic attracts. I dream I'm eating a bowl covered in the milk that makes me sick, and I wake up filled with anxiety. I do not even want to come down here for meals. It's hard on me."
"I eat cereal dry. How do you think the diabetics handle it when they see sugar?" She did not want to sit there and reason with man who looked healthier than anyone in the joint, staff or not. But if he took that as empathy to his imaginary plight, and left her alone so be it. Walbergs eyes and skin are clear, his bone structure chiseled. He is one of the few residents without scares or tattoos. He wore his long thick hair in parted in the middle tied in a pony tail that would have reached his belt, if he were allowed one. He was a man her own age and he would have made a very attractive one had prison not prematurely aged him.
"I just get ravenously hungry after I have been so horribly ill, and I feel as I am starving. I have to beg and barter food from the other inmates."
Starving. That is the one word that can get to the woman. She cannot let anyone starve. She jerks her head at that word and Walberg perceives it as his signal that he has reached her.
She has seen him trade his special diet food she orders in for him with the other inmates in the dinning hall for cream of broccoli soup and saltines. Milk and wheat. Let him shit blood she thinks.
"Again, I appreciate all the effort you go to for me but I do not know who to turn to..."
Walberg has threatened her staff with law suits. She knows he wants to contact another offender who will collaborate his story.
"So anything you could do..." he fishes.
She had considered hiring Walberg to work in the kitchen just to try to shut him. Maybe work the piss out of him so he had something to really complain about. But Walberg, scoring higher on his intelligence tests than any of his teachers combined and probley the warden, got a job over in education as a tutor. Until he hacked into the state website and was sent to treatment for selling porn.
"Walberg. I am not going to ask for you to get moved. The only reason I would have your meals sent to your unit is so you stop bugging me and my staff. But that is more work for them."
She is relieved at last when he leaves her office muttering and wonders when he ate his best friends fingers if it gave him diarrhea.